Livin' in the Blender
by The Irish Psycho
Summary: Farfarello contemplates his relationship with Schuldig but the other man doesn't seem to notice his affections, all he seems to think about is Schwarz's leader.


~Farfie and Schu don't belong to me! they belong to their respective owners.~  
Pairings: one sided FarfxSchu, one sided SchuxCrawford (I HATE THAT PAIRING!)  
Warnings: yaoi, angst  
AN: This is my first serious fanfic, and actually my first real fanfic, not a play, so i think its kinda crappy, but maybe you won't think so. well, anyways, ENJOY!  
~oOo~oOo~oOo~  
~Livin' in the Blender~  
They think they can keep me here, locked up in this cell of a room, my room. Or is it really mine? Crawford would say no. "You own nothing," he would say. According to him SZ owns it, not me. But they are foolish to think that, or that they can keep me here forever, their little pet.  
They can not.  
I am the real victor. Unbeknownst to them they are helping me cause pain to God. I will make him suffer, make him cry, until I can feel his tears rain down upon me like the erratic spray of crimson blood that springs forth from a dying body if you cut into your victim just right.  
Click.  
The door swings open and a man with fiery red hair waltzes in. Schuldig. The mind raper. Here to a annoy me, I presume. Or does it annoy me? I must say I've grown quite used to his ramblings its slightly comforting.  
He is the closest thing to a friend I have; if you can call is friendship. He babbles on to me like I was his shrink, talking about everything from the weather to his darkest secrets that he has never felt the need to share with anyone before. Always I will sit and listen. Sometimes while fiddling with a knife, other times not.  
Occasionally I will comment, but rarely. Usually I will nod or shake my head, letting him know that I am listening.   
I'm not sure he's completely convinced that I am.  
But I hear every word that passes his lips.  
"Farfarello." Ah, he speaks, 'o' speak again bright angel. (1)  
I tilt my head slightly to the side in recognition, staring calmly at him with my steady amber gaze. Pinning him to where he stands with my lone golden orb. If he were anyone else he would be at least a tiny bit intimidated, but he shrugs it off casually with an ever-mocking grin, and proceeds to make his way towards my bed, or, where my body is currently in residence, and flops down beside me, putting a friendly arm around my shoulders.  
I hate being touched.  
But, somehow, his touch is different.  
"We have a mission." A mission, he says. I hope Weiss shows up. Oh how I've dreamt of wiping that genki smile off their little one's round cheery face. God would scream! But Bombay is a sinner, possibly, God would rejoice.  
"No, Bradley foresaw that the kittens wouldn't show, sadly." Damnation. "No Weiss kabobs for you today! But go ahead on skewer little Omikins, It might be fun to see, though, Nagi wouldn't be to happy with you." He pauses for little over a second. "He's thinking about his "angel" right now! And our dear Bradley still think he has it bad for that Schrieint brat, Tot." A lust filled smile forms on his smirking face and I can tell he's thinking about Crawford.  
"Bradley I wonder what he's doing now"  
Bingo. I hit the nail right smack dab on the head.  
A pang of Jealousy plucks at my ever-beating heart within the cavity of my chest. I quickly swallow it down and guard my thoughts, mentally picturing the many more gruesome ways to murder Bradley Crawford. How I hate that many with all my heart and soul. He proudly holds second place for most hated being, right after God. Two thumbs up for him, kudos, really.  
The German doesn't know I want to slaughter the oracle. Perhaps he never will. He doesn't seem to have caught on quite yet, for I guard these thoughts well, just like my like for the redhead.  
I have not a clue what Schu sees in the American, and I hate that the telepath sees anything in him. Crawford is a boring, stick-up-the-ass egomaniac.  
"Damn, paperwork, as usual. He should be paying attention to me, not his damn paperwork! I don't understand this-this obsession of his!" Just like I don't understand your obsessing with the man behind the paperwork.  
He sighs wistfully and I cringe internally at the orientation of the sigh, picture more ways of Crawford related bloodshed to humor myself.  
"I just want to throw him down on his desk and fuck his brains out! Show him its me he needs! Not his fucking paperwork!"  
I see red.  
Grinning slyly he begins describing all the sexually related things he's ever wanted to do to the older man.  
I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! My mask chips slightly and I let out an inaudible mumble, sounding to him, more like a dangerously low growl. Upon hearing this he turns his head to face me, sensing my dilemma.  
"What? Do I sense annoyance?" More like hatred. His sly grin grows wider and he begins to describe his fantasies more graphically, while sending images of said actions into my mind. I can't stop them. I can't stand them.   
Disgusting, filthy, vial, disturbing.  
One after the other, countless images of Schuldig writhing under the American pelt into my mind, from bondage to the most gentle caress. Counter attacking, I open my mind to the endless pain and death I have wreaked upon mankind. Unable to take in all of it at once he ceases his agonizing torture, and I smirk slightly to myself. I am the only human that can do that to him. The only person that can fill his already jaded mind with such horror that even the mind raper himself has to retreat from his momentary visit, in pain, not pleasure as he would any other time. He said it himself once, the thoughts of others taste like sweet honey.  
But not mine.  
Mine taste like death.  
But I know my mind fascinates him like no other ever will. It is a wonderland filled with new and exciting things, different ever time he ventures inside, according to him, anyways.  
Angrily he pushes himself off the bed. "Fine! Be that way! See if I ever come talk to you again!"   
But I know he'll be back.  
He sighs, this time its in frustration. "You don't ever talk anyways…" I smirk at him, and he gives me another exasperated sigh, then turns around and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. This is followed by fading footfalls and the slamming of another door, presumably the door to the German's room.  
I chuckle quietly to myself. One day he will see who needs him, who wants him, who is not quite in love, but very much in like with him. No, it is not Crawford. Me, I'm the one that needs him, wants him, likes him. I don't love him, I know that I don't, but I could easily do so I believe.  
Getting up I step quietly to the door. Ah, he left it unlocked. Grabbing my jacket I put it on while walking to the front door. Closing it quietly I suck in a deep breath of the outside air putting the thoughts of Schuldig that are running rampant through my brain aside.  
I have a feeling that before I come back a few nuns will meet their maker. (2)  
FIN.  
~oOo~oOo~oOo~  
1 - from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, I know it's cheesy but I had to put it and it worked. ::shrugs::  
2 - a Duo quote.  
I reeeeaaaaaaally like Omi! I'm not saying that because I really want Farfie to kill him! It just fits his little rant. And I reeeeeeeaaaaally like OmixNagi/NagixOmi, so don't throw things at me for beating up on them! ::hides::   
Well, I hope you like it so far! It's my first serious fanfic, so its kinda crappy, I think, so anyways C&C appreciated! Flames will be extinguished by a great mighty slobbering beast's drool. ^. ^! 


End file.
